Azkaban Block Tango
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. Inspired by Chicago's "Cell Block Tango." Six drabbles, six women, six betrayals (of one kind or another.) Murder and dark themes within, major character death abounds. But you know what they say..."they had it coming..."
1. Bubbles

_Author's Note: This collection is inspired by Chicago's "Cell Block Tango." Six drabbles, six pairings._

_Warning for: murder, dark themes. _

She was happy with him. She really was. She could overlook his tendency to eat with his mouth open, the way that he steadfastly ignored any attempt at learning now that his Hogwarts days were over. The way he spoke over her, and seemed to believe that now that she was pregnant, she would turn into the brown-haired version of his mum, content to pop out babies and keep house, hanging up her dreams with her apron.

And then he discovered the new flavours of Drooble's Best blowing gum.

Ron had always liked sweets. Hermione couldn't blame him for that; so did she, although her parents' voices always tended to speak up quite sternly in her head when she indulged, scolding her about cavities and tartar and gingivitis.

Ron, though...She didn't know why, but he'd developed a tendency to not only chew massive quantities of gum, but pop bubbles. Loud, obnoxious bubbles that tended to coat his face in gum, and then he'd _grin_ at her. Like it was the most brilliant thing he'd ever done.

It was enough to drive any girl mad. And was it any wonder, with her pregnancy hormones running amok through her body, that she would snap?

They were visiting her parents when Hermione finally had enough. Her mum and dad had stepped out for their nightly constitutional. They invited Hermione and Ron to go with them, but Hermione wasn't feeling so well, and in a rare show of solicitude, Ron volunteered to stay with her.

She should have known it was only an excuse for him to watch Muggle telly, turned up to an obnoxious volume that made her head pound, and chew still more gum, this kind virulently blue and touted to be blueberry pie-flavoured.

Another bubble popped, sticky and brilliant blue over his chin. Hermione stared at it, and hated it. Hated him. What kind of wife was she, hating her own husband?

"Could you please turn that down?" she finally said, striving to keep her voice calm. He looked over at her, popped his gum again.

"Sure, 'Mione," he said, and turned it down. For all of ten seconds, upon which it was right back up again, as loud as ever. And he stuffed still _more_ gum into his mouth, chewing messily.

Hermione looked around the room, fingers clenching, and her eyes lit upon the shotgun on the mantle-piece. It was more for decoration than anything else, but she knew her dad kept it always ready for firing, in case of intruders.

_Pop._

That decided her. Heaving her unwieldy body up off the sofa, Hermione grabbed the shotgun and aimed it carefully at her husband's head.

Just a warning shot or two, that was all, she thought, and then a diabolical smile crossed her face, just as she pressed the trigger.

This _pop_ sound was so good, she had to repeat it.


	2. The Perfect Life

Ginny Weasley had the perfect life. She'd lived through You-Know-Who's abortive rise to power and the chaos that followed, she'd gotten Harry Potter to chase her like a lovestruck rabbit, and now, six months before her wedding, she was contemplating what kind of dress she would look best in. A smug smile curved her mouth as she gazed at her reflection in the prism of mirrors, turning this way and that to see the full effect. She'd wanted Harry Potter since she was eleven years old, and now he would be hers.

"This one," she told the deferential sales-witch, who nodded and waved her wand once, recording all of Ginny's measurements and the details of the dress. This boutique had come highly recommended, and Ginny was not disappointed. It was quite a coup for a Weasley, used to scrounging at second-hand shoppes for everything, and still coming up short. Then again, Harry was loaded, was he not? She hopped off the stool and laughed, the sound of a delighted bride-to-be. Nothing could spoil this. Nothing.

Well, nothing except for slipping out of the boutique as she fastened her cloak at her throat and seeing her fiance ducking into an alley with a frizzy-haired Muggle girl in a too-short skirt and showing quite a bit of skin. For an instant, red-hot rage flooded her body and her fingers tightened so hard around her wand, it was a miracle it didn't snap in half.

"How _dare_ he," she hissed to herself, sounding more like a snake than anything human. She started to march over there, more than willing to give Harry a dose of her temper and a piece of her mind, but then some bit of her urged caution.

So instead, she eased up to the wall and peeked around the corner. Harry, _her_ Harry, leaned against the wall with his trousers undone, and the girl on her knees in front of him, bobbing her head up and down. It was more than obvious what they were doing, and a flush of shame coloured Ginny's cheeks to think of her husband-to-be cavorting in public like this, with someone that wasn't her. Was obviously not her. It was absolutely mortifying and she wondered if anyone else knew.

Harry groaned, a sound that carried even to her ears, and emptied himself in the girl's mouth. She spluttered a bit and gracefully stood, pressing her slick, stained lips to his. Ginny felt her gag reflex make itself known and hurried away, Apparating home and feeling grateful that Harry wasn't due back for another several hours. She was going to be sick at any moment.

"All right, Ginevra," she told herself after the bout of illness had passed, gazing at herself critically in the mirror. "What are you going to do about this? You're not married..._yet_. Youthful indiscretion? Stupidity? Cheating bastard?"

Personally, she was leaning toward cheating bastard, but she had to admit that being the Boy Who Lived and knowing you could have any slag you wanted must have been more than a bit heady. And it was only the once. A quick shag in an alleyway. Perhaps it was a one-off.

Or so she thought until she followed him around for the next week and saw him with _five_ other girls. Each time, they kissed and felt each other up and disappeared into some dim, musty alley.

"Enough," Ginny said. More than enough. But still, she pinned a smile on her face, pretended to be the happy bride-to-be, until their wedding. She said "I do" and felt her heart crack at the deceit. Until he smiled at her, green eyes brimming with supposed love, and said "I do" right back.

_Lying, cheating arse,_ she thought and kissed him obediently. At the reception, she slipped away, fixing each of them a glass of wine. His glass deserved a little...extra, and she handed it to him with a special reverence, the shy, blushing bride. He grinned at her and took a long sip.

It was a shame, Ginny thought, as he fell at her feet and began to convulse. She'd never met a fellow who could actually hold his arsenic.


End file.
